His True Nature
by Peahopeless
Summary: A stormy night in London causes V to worry about Evey's absence in the Gallery. Taking matters into his own hands, V ventures out into the storm in search of his beloved.


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**Disclaimer:** As always, they're not mine and never will be. These characters and places belong to Alan Moore, DC Comics, Wachowski brothers, and Warner Bros. 

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.

**Special notes: **This began with a request from 'larryboy', which was very simple, but I'll wait til footnotes to give it. I just don't want to give anything away unnecessarily.

Note where this is in timeline. It's relatively early, and is (particularly) between "Made to be Broken" and "Especially".

At a week before posting this, I thought I was going to be working on a Halloween story this past week. But by the time I went to bed that Thursday night, this was already half formed in my head. By that Friday afternoon, I was suddenly, frantically, flipping through Hans Christian Andersen fairytales ... entirely unplanned, but I just suddenly knew that that was where I had to go. And as a result, I landed on a fairytale that has to have unique meaning for These Two. But Hans Christian Andersen is not as fluffy as some people might think, and that's why I need to explain some things.

I'm sure some of V and Evey's readers already know this, but I also suspect that some don't. Andersen is very famous for writing 'fairytales', but they're not the fluff that some people think. He does not do a lot of happy endings. For him, 'fairytale' does not equal 'happy ending'. For example, he wrote 'The Little Mermaid', and his original version does not end like Disney's adaption.

(spoiler alert) ... In the original, the mermaid watches as the prince sails off with his bride (his bride who is not the mermaid). He's very happy, and is even lovingly whispering the name of his human bride in his sleep. The mermaid had been told that she either had to kill him, or die herself. So she ends up sacrificing herself -- jumping into the water and dying. She's then turned into an angel, but even that is not a 'fluffy' ending. We're told that angels don't get to heaven and immortality for a total of 300 years 'probation' (Andersen's word). For every time the angel passes a well-behaved child, the angel's probation is reduced by one year, and for every time the angel passes a 'wicked' child, one year is added on. So not only is the prince sailing off into the sunset with the human bride he loves, but the mermaid died, has become an angel, and now has to go through years of probation (which can be lengthened if she sees too many wicked children) before she can even get to heaven. -- -- How's that for 'non-Disney' ending? 

**So what I'm saying is this:** V is going to tell (in his own words, with his own perceptions, and with his own 'spin on things') a Hans Christian Andersen fairytale. But do not go into this assuming that 'fairytale' means pure fluff. Personally, I love the way V emphasized certain points, and spun other things in a certain way. I like his version just as well as Andersen's, although in terms of plot and actual detail, they are almost identical. ... But anyway, I am going to include a link to an original Andersen version in the footnotes section. I do suggest reading V's version first though.

Remember, Evey is 'Director of the Cultural Preservation Department'.

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**His True Nature**

The sky over London was completely black ... night having fallen and rain clouds blotting out even the moon. Man-made lights were what shaped the city skyline, twinkling through sheets of rain and pillows of fog as if they'd deemed themselves the evening's honorary stars. Below, those few people who ventured out dashed quickly to and fro, holding umbrellas, coats, newspapers, or whatever they had handy over their heads. The wisest, as they no doubt fancied themselves to be, were those who decided to seek their entertainment indoors ... close to hearth and home.

It was, however, exactly the type of thick, wet weather through which V could move nearly unimpeded. No one lingered long enough to notice the dark figure moving at the end of the street. No one heard his heavy, unexplained footfalls, over the splash of automobile tires and quickly slammed car doors. No one even considered looking upward, to where a black cloak fluttered against an equally black sky, lest the observer get an eyeful of rain water. ... ... Although London surely hated it, for V it was quite fortuitous. Especially tonight, as he would slip through the world above on his way to visit his lady.

By their original plans it was she who was supposed to have met him, earlier that evening down in the Gallery. But of course with the turn in the weather, he'd certainly understood when her scheduled time of arrival had come and gone uneventfully. -- -- He didn't want her moving about in that flooding, wet mess any more than she did.

He'd waited of course, just in case, reminding himself that this was actually a very intelligent and cautious decision on her part. They could certainly wait another day or two to see each other, if it meant keeping her safe from the angry elements overhead. It really was very prudent. ... What bothered him was the fact that he couldn't be certain. What if something had happened? What if something was wrong? ... So in those first idle hours after she'd made no appearance, curiosity and concern both got the better of him, and he began a discreet search for information -- -- walking a fine line between justifiable concern, and too deep of an invasion into her privacy.

It was her online office diary he hacked into first, rationalizing that it was already public to the majority of her co-workers. If official business had suddenly been foisted upon her, as her position often required, then everything was easily explained and in order. If her schedule remained free, and she'd simply chosen to avoid the vicious weather outside, then he might find himself scrolling through the latest police accident reports, or maybe inspecting her flat from a distance -- -- anything to put his own fears to rest. And if, in the meantime, she walked through the Gallery's entranceway -- soaking wet and cursing the flooded streets as the cause of her delay -- he'd be just as quick to wrap her up in his own, warm dryness.

Well ... he never got past the diary. Her evening had not been commandeered by an unexpected meeting, nor had it been left open as was intended for V himself to fill. ... ... No, she'd never even arrived at work that day, her meetings canceled and her absence noted as 'Out, due to illness.'

And so, many minutes later, it was he who ducked between the sheets of blowing rain; he who moved from rooftop to rooftop; and he who climbed to her fire escape, to check properly on his beloved.

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Most of the lights in her flat were off, at least from what he could see by peering through her bedroom curtains. A dull glow fluctuated in the distance, reflected, then reflected again down the corridor's walls. It functioned as his only greeting.

He tapped lightly on the window, but received no answer. He tapped again, and could find not even the slightest change in that distant, flickering light. So he resorted to the use of his knife, sliding the lock open and climbing silently into her bedroom.

Whereas it was the rain that had disguised his footsteps outside, now it was the television that drowned out his movements within. That was the light source, and hearing no obvious voices from caring neighbours or worried co-workers, V slipped stealthily through to the main living area. ... ... There he found his lady. Fast asleep on the sofa, completely oblivious to whatever mystery series was currently being aired.

She was bundled up in a dressing gown and small blanket, curled on her side with her neck in a most uncomfortable looking position. A cup of tea sat on the coffee table, along with a glass of water, a piece of toast with maybe two bites eaten, and a box of tissues. Another tissue was crumpled in her hand, held beneath her chin as if she might recently have been dabbing at her mouth.

No other lamps were lit. Not a single one, making it impossible to determine if the paleness of her face was a trick of the light -- or something for him to be genuinely concerned about.

... ... He didn't want to just keep standing there. Didn't want to startle her; didn't want to appear 'sinister' in his approach; ... but nor did he want to refrain from action if action was what was required. -- -- Any action, if she needed help.

His voice was how she would know him ... that was the first solution to come to his mind. She and she alone knew his voice like no one else on this earth. If anything could ease her waking, that, he hoped, would be it.

... ... "Evey?" he called softly, some metres distant. He stayed back, not wanting her first waking thought to be of a man in black looming ominously above her. ... ... "Evey?"

She groaned and rubbed her eyes, stretching her legs beneath the cover. Then she lifted her head, only to grimace in pain and grab for her shoulder. ... ... Nor was her brain faring much better, groggy with sleep as she searched for the muffled yet strangely familiar voice. And when she did finally look in his general direction, her first words were an especially startled, "Oh, Jesus! ... V?! Is that you?!"

"Yes, love, it's I," he assured quickly, taking a hasty step closer. "It's I."

... ... Her hand pressed over her heart as she tried to catch her breath. ... ... "I couldn't pick you out from the shadows," she explained, letting out a puff. "I couldn't tell what was moving at first."

V's head bowed solemnly and he discarded his wet hat to the floor. "I do apologize," he soothed, removing the soggy cloak as well. ... "I gathered that you were unwell, and wanted only to check on you. I'm afraid I had no choice but to enter via the window."

Evey nodded in acceptance. "It's ok," she replied, "I'm happy you're here," then turned her attention toward the clock. She had to squint, her vision still blurred and bleary-eyed. ... "It's after nine?" she asked in disbelief. "How long have I been asleep?"

V shook his head helplessly, closing the last of the distance and dropping to his knees before her. The flickering glow was highly misleading, and he tried yet again to determine her actual state of pallor.

"Last thing I remember," she puzzled, "I was going to lie down until my stomach settled. That must have been hours ago." ... She looked at her beau. ... "Damn it, I was supposed to come down tonight too."

Behind the mask, V's brow rose. So she had still planned on coming below? Through this rain and in her obvious condition? -- -- Suddenly he was pleased to have found her unconscious. ... "I'll have none of that," was his staunch objection. "You're in no condition to go anywhere, love." ... His hand made the lightest brush across her cheek, then rested to her shoulder as he anxiously studied her face. ... "Least of all, out into such dismal weather."

"How did you know I was sick?" she asked ... puzzled a bit ... but then, her head wasn't making much sense of anything at the moment.

"I visited your work diary," he admitted, deciding that he might as well be honest from the beginning. There were more important concerns at the moment than hiding innocuous crimes. "You were listed as 'Out, due to illness.' ... Is it your stomach? You mentioned your stomach, love. Is that where you're ailing?" ... His hand migrated as if to tenderly touch the curvature of her abdomen -- -- then halted -- -- dropping to the sofa cushion instead. He had no intention of hurting her, or appearing too forward.

"Stomach bug," she sighed. "It started last night, and I thought if I stayed home maybe I could prevent it from getting worse." She moved as if to sit upright, groaning all the way, her muscles having stiffened in the most awkward of positions. ... "I only laid down for a few minutes. I guess I should have set an alarm."

V reached to the other end of the sofa, grabbing more pillows to stuff and prop around his beloved. And alas, he felt the moment when she finally gave up -- going limp in his arms as he worked to reposition her. "Are you in pain, love? Tell me, please?"

"Stomach cramps," she replied, closing her eyes as she rested back down. "Headache. Having a hard time keeping anything down." ... She paused modestly, then added, "Spending a lot more time in the loo than is normal."

"Have you spoken with a physician?" he asked, as if it were the first, most logical, most urgent step.

Her response was a non sequitur, her brain finally catching up to his earlier admission. "You checked my diary? You mean you hacked into the network?"

"I was concerned," came his obvious reply. But his fact-finding methods were not the problem at hand. -- -- "Have you spoken with a physician?" he repeated.

She shook her head and buried further into the pillows. "It's just a stomach bug, V. There's nothing any doctor can do. I was planning on stopping by the chemist's on the way down tonight. I figured I'd take something then if it hadn't gotten any better."

"Tell me what you need," he instructed. "The names of the products. I can easily find them."

"You just got here," she protested. "And it's pouring outside." ... ... The rain hurried to prove her point, spraying hard and fast against the windows.

"Indeed," he agreed. "Which will make my journey all the easier." ... His hand stroked through her hair, the drive to comfort her overwhelming. ... "Please, love. Let me help. ... Let me care for you?"

She reached out, just enough to catch his fingers and twine them with her own. ... ... A kiss to soft black leather before she drew his hand beneath her chin. -- -- The weakened, suffering lady was curling back up, and trying to take a piece of her man along with her. ... ... "Some Pepto-Bismol, I guess. Maybe some Diocalm. That should do it."

V nodded, memorizing the words so he would have no problem. "I shall lock the window for your safety, and make my exit via one of the building's service stairways. I doubt there will be many tenants coming or going tonight. ... You stay here. And try to sleep."

"Be careful," she murmured, as the mask brushed a frozen kiss to her temple.

"I will." ... ... Then an "I love you," and he was on his way.

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Unlike most convenience loving patrons, V's destination was a chemist's shoppe that wasn't open twenty-four hours a day. Some still existed, resisting the allure of the free-for-all that had begun with the lifting of Norsefire's oppressive curfew. He wanted it to be closed and locked up tight while he jimmied a backdoor entrance. He wanted no one to see his lightning fast dash to disarm the alarm and send through the 'all clear' signal. -- -- There were very few alarm systems that he hadn't cracked countless times in the past. ... ... And he especially wanted no witnesses as he moved through the aisles, glancing at package labels and tossing the majority of them into two bags.

... ... A confused, slightly overwhelmed V, out doing a bit of domestic shopping. ... ... No, he did not want an audience for that.

He found what Evey had requested though ... plus a whole lot more ... and even grabbed a bottle of ginger ale as an afterthought. He'd read that recommendation somewhere, and only wanted to be prepared.

In no time he was sailing across London's rooftops again. Completely unseen. Not even heard, despite the two plastic bags that crackled as their contents bounced around within. ... It was just so easy, on nights like this. Literally as if he wasn't even there.

Evey noticed him though ... quite clearly when he returned through her bedroom window. This time he had the welcome of her smile -- -- the patient sitting upright though her head lolled against the sofa back. She was watching the news now, though he suspected she held no real interest for it.

"Any problems?" she asked, while his hat and cloak were discarded even more quickly than the last time. The blades too, as he intended to offer his physical comfort as well.

"None at all," he assured, hurrying forward to present the bounty to his lady. He sat down beside her, removing the bottle of ginger ale himself in case so much shaking had made it 'explosive'. "I found everything that you requested, with the exact names you listed. And you need feel no concern for the chemist. He has been paid, and I promise you that his ledger will far surpass his inventory once he updates his accounting."

... ... And whether he'd planned for it or not, he at last received a faint hint of her laughter. ... ... Such a wonderful sign of life. ... ...

"How much did you get?!" she chuckled, pulling item after item after item from the bags. ... "Pepto-Bismol, Bisodol, Motilium, Diocalm, Alka Seltzer, Remegel, Anadin," she read off the names, more and more surprised with each new bottle or box. "Kwells?! V, I don't have travel sickness. I haven't even left the flat in over twenty-four hours."

He could only shake his head. "I am not familiar with these treatments, love. It is very rare that I am ill. ... I did glance at the labels, but my goal was speed -- -- and ensuring that you have whatever you need."

... ... Her smile softened, clearly touched by his determination. The mask received a kiss -- newly dampened with the mist of rain water, and she laid herself into his waiting embrace. ... She'd start the regiment of pills and potions in a minute. He would be the first part of the cure, and she squeezed him as hard as her tired muscles would allow.

"You'll stay for a while?" she requested. "Please?"

"Evey, my love," he replied, "you know there is no need to ask. I would be nowhere else." ... ... He held her close, his concern for her health finally trumping the fear that his touch could ever jeopardize it. Even if his knowledge of all those 'miracle cures' was lax, she already seemed a bit cheerier just with the return of his presence. And she would soon be better still. -- -- He would see to that.

"I should go take a shower," she mumbled, though her eyes had already closed where her head leaned to his chest. She was almost down for the count again, no matter what her foolish brain thought it could trick her body into doing. ... "Clean myself up a bit, in case I pass out for another five hour stretch."

"What you should do, love," he corrected, "is take some medication, then shower and get ready for a proper night's sleep. I'll make you some herbal tea. ... Something light. Something to soothe you."

... ... Evey took a deep breath, then exhaled it in a restful puff. She showed no inclination of moving though; merely agreeing with a low-effort, "Mmhmm."

She was already falling asleep, and he had no heart to wake her. So he would allow her to nap for a short time before insisting she drink any of that thick, pink liquid, or down any of those hundred-and-one assorted tablets. There was an old saying that 'sleep is the best medicine of all', and 'the best medicine' was exactly what he wanted for his Evey.

"Rest, love," he whispered, propping the mask gently to her hair. "You'll be well again soon."

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Twenty-three minutes of sleep; two tablespoonfuls of Pepto-Bismol; and two Anadin capsules later, Evey was up and moving. ... Into the loo, specifically, where her goal was to shower, brush her teeth, and gain enough control over her stomach to sleep peacefully for the night.

V switched off the television, drew the curtains, and returned some proper light to the flat -- -- chasing back those shadows that had so alarmed his beloved upon her first awakening. Hopefully it would improve her mood as well, to find that demarcation between he and she safely inside, while the messy London night was kept firmly outside. After that, he set about brewing the herbal tea he'd promised. A nice chamomile that should help her sleep.

Surprisingly, this was the task in which he was still involved, when Evey shuffled back into the kitchen.

She wore clean pajamas and a clean dressing gown, her arms wrapped snugly around it all. Perhaps she was chilled; but more likely it was a matter of self-consolation. ... ... Her hair had been blown dry, in compliance with V's strict insistence that she not sleep with a damp head. The ends were a little wet though, her muscles just too weary to continue working at it.

... ... She was however, far more awake, and smiled at her beau with a tired but cheerful, "I'm done."

... ... And then she halted, taking in the minor explosion that was her kitchen. At least four cupboard doors sat open, with various boxes, cans, and foodstuffs scattered across the counter. V popped up from where he was digging through yet another cupboard, a box of Wheatabix in one gloved hand and a jar of curry paste in the other.

"Excellent," he replied. "How do you feel?"

Evey nodded. "A little better. I don't think my stomach could handle a curry though."

V glanced at the jar, having barely even noted what it was ... only, what it wasn't. "I was looking for the honey," he explained. "I think a touch of it would be very beneficial." -- -- And his tone was quite clear that he felt no embarrassment over the mess he was making, as long as it was for a good cause.

Evey's smile quirked at a scene far more endearing than she was likely to admit, and she pointed toward a different cupboard -- one that neighboured the oven. "I keep it down there, where the extra warmth might slow down crystallization."

... ... "That's an excellent idea," he replied, rather impressed with the logistics. The curry and Wheatabix were left amidst the rest of the mess, and he found the honey exactly as she said.

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And this is how the next forty minutes were spent. Rather than bundled together in his cloak, watching the rain from beneath a dry, safely hidden overhang; or curled up on the Gallery's sofa, giving the weather not even a second thought; they shared light conversation in her flat's little kitchen. V restored her cupboards to their rightful order -- -- perhaps even improving on that 'order', as long as she didn't object. Evey sipped her tea, nibbling on a piece of toast whenever the tilt of her beau's head would silently note how little she'd eaten.

... ... He wanted her well, and for that her body needed its fuel.

A cup and a half of tea was what he successfully coaxed into her ... yes, with a good dose of honey too. But he pushed for no more medication. Firstly because she obviously knew her stomach far better than he did. And secondly, because if she needed another dose later, he intended to be there anyway.

It was an easier choice to make than he'd expected -- -- that decision to remain within her flat for the rest of the night. He never fancied lingering in too public of an area, no matter how perfect his disguise. A fire alarm or other emergency could send people running at any moment. A neighbour could come knocking for one reason or another. And the excuse of dressing for the season certainly wasn't going to fly at this time of year. But after one glance at his lady's face, her complexion ashen and her eyelids heavy ... and the grimace she made every few minutes, when her hand moved bashfully to her abdomen and a faint gurgling sound emerged ... those other concerns barely even mattered.

So his answer was already prepared, when she commented that the chamomile was beginning to take effect and she should probably go to bed. He promised to retrieve whatever she requested during the night, and would keep her medications handy.

... ... She paused as she walked down the hallway, turning back toward her beau. He was just a short distance behind, extinguishing the brightest of the lights. ... "You're sure?" she questioned, referring to more than just a tablespoon of Pepto-Bismol being delivered in the dark. ... She knew his personal concerns over privacy.

"I shall stay at least until dawn," he replied. "And if you're not improved, then I shall also stand right here while you prepare for a trip to the physician's office."

That made her smile, and she nodded her agreement.

As for sleeping arrangements, he had that figured out too. -- -- He would sleep in the stuffed chair just inside her bedroom doorway. He was accustomed to the chaise lounge, and a chair is a chair ... right?

She'd brought a glass of water with her, which she placed in easy reach on her nightstand. Then she flicked on her nightlight and shuffled off her dressing gown. ... ... Nothing unusual. ... Nothing her beau hadn't seen before.

He helped her crawl beneath the covers, glancing up only to make sure that the curtains had been redrawn. Someone could climb up that fire escape and try to peek into the room. He should know -- he was usually the chief culprit. ... ... "Try to sleep, love," he whispered, brushing the mask to her cheek. "I shall be in the chair. Don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything." Not that he expected to sleep much, if for no other reason than he wanted to be easily available. She nodded, appearing comfortable and content, then seemed to curl up for the night.

... ... It was at the last minute that her hand caught his, slender fingers squeezing weakly around strong muscle and supple leather. "Couldn't you sleep next to me?" she murmured, her eyes closed and her cheek turned into the pillow. Maybe she really was on the edge of sleep -- -- or maybe she just wanted a little shy anonymity while making her plea. ... "We're together on your chaise. And that's a lot smaller."

His reply was both as honest -- and as obvious -- as it could possibly be. ... "But this is your bed, Evey."

Her eyes found his again and she jiggled his fingers playfully. "You could sleep on top of the blanket, if it bothers you that much. Didn't they do that in a film we just saw a few months ago? ... ... I was paying attention, you know."

... ... Using his prized film collection against him. It was almost sacrilegious. But at least that meant her mental faculties weren't too impaired after all.

And then she drew her true weapon. ... ... "Please? ... I don't want you to sit vigil. I have the feeling you've done far too many vigils over the years. ... I'd rather just be held. You have no idea how much better that makes me feel."

"Oh, love," he sighed, lifting a rueful smile behind the mask. Was it alright to be so touched by her plea, despite the illness that brought it on? ... He'd fallen to her words in the past, and would do so again in the future. So he agreed, with a soft, "Yes, alright, Evey."

His boots were dirty from rooftops and rain gutters -- -- so much wet blackness covering London tonight. They would be banished off the bottom of the bed, and he crawled in with black-stockinged feet. ... ... So nice and soft it felt, as he stretched out beside her. A feather pillow and a fluffy cotton blanket. It could have been the most comfortable place on earth, if he weren't so acutely aware of exactly where he was.

Evey gave him a true, heartfelt welcome, rolling over and colliding with his bulk. The blanket was still between them, if that's what it took to ease his nerves. But she snuggled up against him just like she would do in the dark red chaise -- -- her hand to his abdomen, her head to his shoulder -- -- until his embrace finally came with all its loving strength.

"I love you," she whispered in fervent response, letting him be the one to bring them closer. He bundled her against his side ... onto the pillow of his chest ... in the way that he, not the spacious bed, required. And soon both of them breathed secret sighs of relief.

"But will you be able to sleep like this?" he asked, his tone unfortunately doubtful. How tightly he wanted to hold this woman he loved. -- -- Just as she had suggested. Just as she had given permission. ... ... That might not, however, be the best thing for her poor, aching stomach. Throughout it all, he'd still heard its intermittent, rumbling complaint.

"I'm ok," she assured. "If I suddenly jump up and do a runner from the room, you might be advised to stand back." ... She gave him an earnest squeeze -- even if not with her normal, healthy strength. Silent signal that in the meantime he was to go nowhere, and release her no time soon. ... "But believe me, V, there is literally no better way to sleep."

The masked man chuckled softly, one hand stroking her hair, the other rubbing lightly across her hip -- -- through the safety of pajamas, cotton sheet, blanket, and thick black leather. "I do love you," he soothed. "Heavens, how I do love you, dear Evey. ... And if you dash from the room, I will more than likely be behind you. Hastening for whatever pill or potion you request."

Evey giggled and nodded, her cheek sending a wonderful caress right through his tunic ... right through his clothing ... right through the wall of his chest and directly into his blood. Thank God she didn't have to see the blissful expression on his face at moments like this. She might not be so relaxed to have him in her bed after all.

... ... And against that flood of sensation, her next statement became all the more innocent. ... Even whimsical. ... ...

"I'm tempted to ask for a bedtime story," she mused. "They're so nice when you're sick."

"A story?" he replied in amusement. "Evey Hammond -- terrorist; revolutionary leader; and now Director of the CPD -- needs a bedtime story?"

She glanced up, pinching her lips sarcastically. "With your memory and the amount of reading you do, I'm sure you have more than a few memorized. And what, exactly, is the big difference between me falling asleep while you're reading aloud, and you telling me a story when I actually want to fall asleep?"

... ... Well she had him there.

His head leaned back and he looked to the ceiling in thought. "Grimm's _'Briar Rose'_ perhaps? I think I might enjoy reciting that piece. It has many scenes worth taking to heart."

Evey giggled again. She was familiar with that one, -- but by its second, more popular name. "You mean _'Sleeping Beauty'_? Yeah, I can imagine you'd enjoy that. Especially near the end when the spell is broken by a kiss?" ... Lifting her head, she stretched closer -- as far as her shaky muscles would allow. Close enough to brush her lips to the mask. ... "But you don't have to use a fairytale as an excuse," she teased softly, "to convince me to kiss you." And then she did exactly that, kissing the mask before he could even say, 'Once upon a time'.

His grip strengthened, trying to make the moment last. And yes, he had to agree -- she did have an excellent idea. Too bad he hadn't thought of it first. ... ... In truth though, it was a different effect he'd been seeking. ... "Oh I shall take a kiss, with or without a story," he assured. "But I was actually thinking how nice it would be to watch the beauty sleep. Sleep, when sleep is what I believe you require most."

... ... 'The beauty' let out a sigh and settled back down. Anything would probably do at this point.

"There is one that comes to mind," V pondered aloud, mentally flipping through the vast library within his head. "An old tale that few people know, but that would seem oddly appropriate for a night like tonight -- -- if mood and setting are important."

"Ok," Evey smiled, rubbing her fingers to his chest and rekindling that effect she didn't even know. ... "I'd like to hear it."

So V grew silent, and gathered his thoughts.

"A man," he began. "A writer, who spent many hours contemplating the true; the good; the beautiful things in this world. Things that the average person does not always notice, and rarely takes the time to appreciate. ... This man traveled hither and yon to collect his stories of such things, publishing them to open the eyes of others."

"For some years, this man took up residence in a particularly hot climate, where people swelter by day and dance by night. There was much to see and much to write about, and he wanted to capture it all. ... Unfortunately, in this type of land, the sun hangs high in the sky for hours and hours each day, shriveling and weakening any living creature daring to linger beneath its glare. This is what drove the people to leading such a boisterous nightlife. This is what kept the man indoors for so much of each and every afternoon. And this is what made not only his body, but even his very shadow weak."

"It was in the evenings, when the local population emerged to celebrate and feast, that the man would sit on his balcony and enjoy the night's breeze. He could move again. He could breathe again. And without the blistering sun, his shadow could emerge as well ... stretching itself as high as the ceiling, or as far as the neighbouring balcony."

"But there was something very special about that shadow. Something even the man did not realize until the night when he quite humorously suggested that it stretch itself over and explore the distant flat. Beautiful music often came from the rooms within, and the man asked his shadow to see who was playing such a lovely tune. ... ... He wasn't serious, of course. But when he rose and retired to his own bedroom for the night, his shadow rose likewise -- and disappeared into the building beyond."

... ... Atop V's chest, Evey had been lying peacefully. Drifting on the low, soothing waves of his voice; rising and falling with the gentle motion of his speech; torn between her curiosity over this new tale, and the returning drowsiness of medicine, chamomile, and sickness. ... ... She even wondered if she'd understood that last sentence correctly. ... "Wait," she insisted quietly. "Do you mean he contorted himself so that he could see into the neighbour's flat, or do you mean his shadow actually moved without him? Like a ghost or something?"

"I mean," V replied, "that the man and the shadow split. Completely and utterly split, each going their separate ways. ... ... The man had no idea this could happen, but it did. And for years this man literally had no shadow, nor did the shadow have a body."

... ... Evey's brow rose in confusion, but she was tired enough not to care. No doubt it would all make sense in the end.

"And so it was that the two dwelt apart from each other; the man returning to his country of origin to write of the many wonderful things he had seen, and his shadow taking up a new life for itself out there in the great wide world."

"Many years passed. Many, many years. To find that the man's popularity as an author was diminishing. The world, alas, does not always want to hear of good and beautiful things. The world has a way of turning its back on the truth ... abandoning it for the sordid and salacious. And those who speak of such good things, are often the first to be tossed aside."

"It was around this time that a surprise visitor arrived on the man's doorstep one evening, asking for recognition. Asking that he be remembered. ... ... Here was the man's shadow, pale and a bit thin, but dressed in the fine garments of a wealthy gentleman, and displaying the grace and etiquette to match."

... ... "Hold on," Evey interrupted again, wondering if she was starting to dream this story now. "You mean the shadow was its own person? Had become its own person?"

"Yes," V nodded once, without fanfare or any disbelief of his own. Perhaps it sounded more possible to his ears than it did to his lady's. But then, he had far more in common with this mere 'shadow', than most other people could ever imagine. "By all appearances, the shadow had himself become a man. Only one thing set him apart -- -- that he could not, in turn, cast a shadow of his own."

... ... Evey nodded. "Ok."

... ... She wasn't going to question it anymore. Firstly, because V obviously knew this story well enough to recite it. Who was she to argue? ... And secondly, because, quite frankly, something had changed in the timbre of his voice. Something had happened while describing this strange, dark 'shadow' character, that added a new sense of depth. ... A sombreness? Maybe? ... ... Something, that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

"The shadow," V continued, "had become quite wealthy over the years, and had also gained a rather unique type of knowledge. While the man had been writing and speaking of all things good and beautiful, the shadow had been learning of this world's darker corners. ... ... He could move freely at night, without being seen or noticed. He could slip around -- even through -- all those other shadows still tied to their masters. And thus he could personally witness many of the world's evils. Peer through windows and doorways ... slink undetected into any gathering he wished, and learn of the secrets and wrongdoings men tried so hard to conceal. ... ... It was of those things that the shadow now spoke. He had become a writer as well, revealing conspiracies and wickedness to perpetrators and victims alike. And by that vocation he had prospered, while his former master ... his former 'man' ... had begun to wither."

... ... V paused for a moment, having resisted many temptations to add his own, more personal comments to the story. He knew exactly what it was like to slip unnoticed through the world. ... He'd staked his life on that ability for decades. He'd relied on it to deliver justice and revenge in the most dangerous of circumstances. And how many times had that very same talent come to Evey's protection? -- -- Even tonight, during his raid of an unsuspecting chemist's shoppe.

... ... And unfortunately, he too had seen more than his share of evil walking this earth.

"The shadow came to feel pity for his former master, or so, at least, it appeared. He presented the man with an offer that he claimed would benefit them both. ... ... While the man had grown back a bit of a new, secondary shadow over the years, the original shadow, as I said, could not cast a shadow of his own. This was an especially worrisome condition in those days, as a man who could not cast a shadow was considered soulless. Dangerous. And to be neither trusted nor tolerated."

"So the shadow suggested that he and his former master travel together to a spa of healing waters. The shadow sought this 'healing' to grow a proper beard -- or so was his claim. And perhaps those waters would also return some colour to the withering man's cheeks. The shadow would pay for the entire holiday, and in return, the man would have to pose as the shadow's, shadow."

... ... Evey managed to mumble a muffled chuckle, wondering if this was now going to become a comedy.

... ... It was not.

"The man obviously did not like this plan," V continued, "feeling rather insulted at his suggested status of 'shadow to a shadow'. But this was his own shadow, after all. A former part of himself. Could he not afford some trust and willing faith? ... ... So off they went to the spa, where the shadow impressed many with his finery and gentlemanly qualities."

"Now among the other guests at the spa, was a princess from still another distant land. Her ailment, if you could call it that, was sharp-sightedness. She understood too much; saw too much, as people liked to claim in the day. ... And indeed, she saw right through that shadow, or at least believed that she did, noting to the others that the 'gentleman' in all that finery cast no shadow of his own."

... ... "Wait," Evey halted her masked man again. "Wait. This is getting confusing. So the shadow casts no shadow of his own, and he's telling people that he's a rich bloke visiting the waters to grow a better beard. Meanwhile, the real man ... the shadow's original 'human' ... is pretending to be the shadow's, shadow. And this girl can tell that the shadow cast's no shadow. ... ... But what about the man? Isn't he supposed to be the shadow's, shadow?"

... ... She stopped then, fearing that in continuing her line of questioning she would only muddle her head further.

"Ahhh," V drew. "But you see, the shadow was very cunning. The princess was indeed sharp-sighted, but even she was susceptible to the shadow's alluring charms. When she approached the fine, attractive looking visitor, she accused him outright of casting no shadow. And his explanation was that not only did he have a shadow, but that it was so special ... so unique ... that it could move about on its own. He pointed to his former master and said, _'There ... there is my shadow. I've paid considerable funds for a shadow who can stand apart from me. I enjoy having rare and unusual things in my life.'_"

"As you can imagine, the princess was quite impressed, and began to consort with the shadow each and every evening. They would dance while he told her of his riches, and the many accomplishments he'd made over the years. ... But not of his true nature. Certainly not of his true nature."

"She fell in love with him, exactly as if he were a man. But she had responsibilities as a princess, and had to be certain that this suitor was truly wise, learned, and worldly enough to help her rule an entire kingdom. So she began to ask him of those finer things in life. Of poetry and beauty. Of art and literature. Of sunrises, like those from which the shadow had always been one to flee."

"Well he was clever, and deferred these questions to his former master. _'I know so well of these things, dear princess,' he stated, 'that I am certain even my shadow could speak of them. He has followed me throughout my entire life, and you can readily ascertain how much even such a lowly shadow has learned. There, he stands in the doorway now. Go speak with him -- I'm sure you will find it amusing. But I must warn you, he's grown wise enough that he thinks of himself as a man. So my dear, please humour him thusly?'_"

"The princess agreed, quite intrigued by this notion, and left the shadow who masqueraded as a man, to speak with the man who masqueraded as a shadow. ... And they did indeed discuss all of those wonderful things. Literature and light; virtue and veracity. Until the princess was astounded by the man's goodness and brilliance. And if a mere shadow -- as she had been fooled into believing -- could be this wise, then how much wiser must his owner be? ... ... The princess was convinced, and took the finery-laden, dancing shadow as her betrothed."

... ... By this point, Evey was nearly asleep. While the princess had been waltzing with the shadow, Evey had been doing likewise in her mind's eye ... as light as a feather, sweeping across the floor in the arms of her masked man.

... ... Of course she saw the similarities ... between both V and the shadow, and V and the human master. Like few others in this world, she could appreciate the cunning and quick wittedness it took to move unimpeded through the night. And when it came to proving superior knowledge in literature, goodness, and truth, her beau had long since mastered that as well ... to the degree that she often wondered if he should be 'Director of the Cultural Preservation Department', rather than she herself. ... ... How happy she was for the princess, to have found a partner like that.

... ... Atop V's chest, she smiled silently to herself, trying to stay just this side of wakefulness until V could finish the happy ending.

"This meant, of course," V continued, "that the shadow had to speak posthaste with the man. If they were to marry the princess and live in the far off palace, then certain rules would have to be laid. _'You will remain at my side in all things,' assured the shadow to his man. 'You will have riches and power, and live the rest of your life in luxury. But you must allow yourself to be called a shadow. You must allow the court ... the people ... everyone ... to call you my shadow. And one day a year, as I sit on the balcony enjoying the sun, you must lie at my feet so that I may truly be a man.'_"

"Well the man did not like this, and threatened to go to the princess. He would give the shadow away, in rebuke of these rude and truly offensive demands. But as I've said, the shadow was clever, and pointed out the obvious truth. That he would arrive first, because 'a man always precedes his shadow', and he would tell the princess that his own shadow was rebelling, and becoming dangerous to all around."

... ... Evey blinked. ... ... This suddenly was not going the way she'd expected.

"And that is exactly what happened. The shadow took this news to his lady, convincing her that his own shadow had grown too powerful -- and was rapidly becoming a threat."

"What could the princess do," V asked helplessly, "but stand by the shadow she loved? The one she'd already accepted as a man, whether discerning his true nature or not. ... ... Now remember ... a man could not be without a shadow. As I said earlier, it marked him as soulless and not to be trusted. But the princess loved this shadow so truly, so deeply, that she was prepared to take a most unusual risk. When her betrothed insisted that his own shadow -- secretly the man from whom he had originally sprung -- be done away with, she agreed. She would take a shadowless prince to her palace, to her court, and eventually to her bed ... no matter what the rest of her kingdom would say. This was how much she loved the shadow."

... ... Evey's head rose, and she found V's eyes through the gloom. ... "Are you saying they killed the man? Actually killed him, so they could get married?"

V nodded. "The shadowless shadow won the lady's heart, joined with her in her kingdom, and the pair lived happily ever after. A questionable ending, yes, but one would expect that from Hans Christian Andersen. ... ... 'Happy' in the opinion of some. 'Unhappy' in the opinion of others. Perhaps it depends on the listener. ... Or the storyteller. ... ... As I said, this is a tale that comes often to mind, on stormy nights like tonight. And it does make one wonder, doesn't it? How we view the world? Or perhaps, how we view ourselves?"

Silently, Evey watched her beau ... pondering and reconsidering the story's points, in light of his recent analysis. ... 'How we view ourselves?'

... ... Shadows and wise men? Night and darkness and beauty and truth?

"Is this because I mistook you for a shadow when you first arrived?" she asked, remembering her jolt when she'd found him standing there in the dark. Remembering how it had momentarily knocked the wind out of his sails too. ... "Are you trying to say that you think of yourself as the shadow from the story?"

... ... There came a nervous pause; his only movement being the stroke of his thumb along her spine. ... ... "No, love," he finally replied, though not with the greatest of confidence. "Only that I understand the dichotomy. That on nights such as this, I know why man and shadow are equally necessary. ... ... But they both seek the lady's hand, and I hope she does not believe that it is always the shadow to whom she must yield it."

"Because of how you arrived here tonight?" she concluded, beginning to understand. "And how you found out I was sick; and how you had to go to the chemist's; and why the curtains are closed and the lights are low and everything else we've done?" She rattled off the list, realizing only now how 'different' this might seem to the rest of the world. She hadn't even thought about it before, in all honesty.

"There are no shadows here tonight, V," she assured, with not even a hint of doubt. "That man who hacked into my work diary was just a man who was worried. A genius, granted. But a man nonetheless. The man who went to the chemist's shoppe was an amazingly honest man. You said so yourself -- that the chemist's accounts would all add up. The man who took my kitchen apart looking for honey," ... she couldn't prevent her smile over an image that she would probably never forget ... "well, he may have been a little confused, but he was certainly one of the most determined men I've ever seen."

... ... V's grip ... most definitely the grip of a man ... tightened once more around his lady, and now he smiled a bit as well. He would never regret coming to her aid tonight; he would never regret staying; and he was relieved to know that she felt the same.

"And I'll tell you something else," Evey continued, returning her cheek to its proper place atop his chest. "You said the shadow couldn't stand the sunrise. If I would be worse by morning ... which I don't think I will be, but if that's what would happen ... you wouldn't leave just because of a sunrise. And I knew that even before you told me, because that's your true nature."

... ... His reply was in his embrace; large, strong hands squeezing in silent, humble agreement. ... ... "Thank you, love," he murmured. "You listen far more closely than I had realized. And no, I will not leave until we're certain you are on the mend. ... ... You really should rest though. I really should allow you to rest. ... ... I do love you, dear Evey."

And there came her "I love you," in return -- whispered soft and sweet as she readied for sleep. ... ... She inhaled deeply, and he knew she would not last long.

Eventually, the only remaining sound was the rain, tap-tap-tapping at the window with its rhythmic but unrelenting appeal. ... ... He wouldn't be going out to play anymore tonight, though. The rain would just have to make do with all the other shadows lurking around the city. He was staying in ... staying dry ... and staying with his Evey.

Looking down across the lady one last time, he was just at the point of closing his eyes ... when another small movement caught his attention. ... ... He almost started, just like Evey had done when she'd awoken on her living room sofa. Indeed he felt the split-second tightening of his reflexes, at the idea of something small and dark moving across the bottom of the bed.

But then he realized what it was, and almost had to smile again.

... ... He'd crossed his ankles without even thinking -- -- relaxing another surprising inch, there in his Evey's bed. And the dark, moving figure against which his reflexes had risen? ... ... His black-stockinged toe, jutting up into the air.

... ... Of all things ... his toe.

Maybe she was right. Maybe there really were no shadows here tonight.

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**Footnotes:**

larryboy's request was: to see what it would be like if Evey were sick. There will be other times in the future when she's also sick. I'm thinking of this as a baseline.

The Hans Christian Andersen fairytale is entitled, _'The Shadow'_, and I've put a copy of it on my aol website.

**Author's Note:** This is one story of many (over 100) that are written in a timeline format. Not all of these stories have been posted on this site yet (some of them -- rated for adults only -- will never be posted to this site), **but all of my stories -- including those not posted here yet -- have been posted on my aol website**. Just click on my username for more information on how to get to my homepage, or do a search on PEAhopeless V for Vendetta Fan Fiction on the internet.


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